


The Taming of the Stew

by Cordelia_Sun



Series: Personal Indulgences [3]
Category: Farscape
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Food, Frottage, Mild Smut, Season/Series 02, Sensual Play, Sexual Tension, Shippy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Sun/pseuds/Cordelia_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach and Aeryn agrees, provided you can get the angle of the knife just right as you go under the ribcage. </p><p>On reflection, John decides a cooking lesson may be in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taming of the Stew

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, but I believe the original draft of this was written in response to an prompt about making a mundane activity fun. It was supposed to be a drabble. As is typical with Farscape, it got a bit out of hand and ended badly.

 

“Hey Aeryn?” Crichton’s voice echoed across the maintenance bay. It reached Aeryn as she crouched under her prowler, where she was busy servicing her hammond side pulse cannon.

“What?” She called to him and bent her head under the belly of the ship where she watched his heavy boots thump towards her. When he reached the prowler he crouched down to her level, reaching up to steady himself on the side of the ship.

“You have plans for the afternoon?” Crichton asked, sporting a playful grin.

Aeryn tensed, she was afraid that he was going to suggest recreation and she’d sworn off that with him while she worked on getting her head straight. He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked, hadn’t badgered her with questions—a frelling miracle—but it had been a while and she was sure he was about to propose a tension release. She ran her eyes over him as he crouched in front of her; taking in the splendid view presented by tight leather pants and a very well fitted black t-shirt. She had been feeling a little…tense lately. Maybe...

No. She gnawed on the flesh on the inside of her cheek and forced herself to concentrate.

“Look, John—” she started in a hesitant tone.

“No, no, no!” Crichton cut her off waving a hand frantically, “it’s nothing like that. Promise.”

“What then?” she asked, suspicious and a little concerned that he could so easily read her expression.

“Its a surprise. Join me in the central chamber, an arn or so after second meal?”

“A surprise?”

“Yeah, don’t worry…it’s a good one. You’ll like it.” His grin twisted a little and he shrugged, “probably.”

Aeryn narrowed her eyes at him, still suspicious, but…interested.

“OK.” She said and he responded with a dazzling boyish grin.

“Awesome,” he said, and bounced up to leave, “see you later alligator.”

 

***

 

The food situation on Moya had improved significantly in the last couple of weekens. Just as they were all getting sick of the sight of keedva barbeque they came across a little out of the way industrial planet—free of Peackeeper beacons—where they managed to earn a little nearly honest currency and restock the pantry.

And now that they actually had food to cook, they reinstated the cooking rota. It seemed a good idea at the time, but John would be willing to bet that whole wars had been fought with less animosity than the decision of what to have for third meal.

Zaahn prepared dishes of exquisite beauty; morsels of nutritional and spiritual perfection. Unfortunately, these morsels tended to be rather on the delicate side and they’d all learned to have a hearty meal before they came to the table. D’Argo favoured heavily spiced slabs of meat, which were actually pretty tasty provided you had good teeth. They banned Rygel from cooking on the grounds that he ate ninety percent of the food before it made it to the table. They banned John from trying to replicate Earth food after the infamous Sloppy Joe Incident.

Chiana was the best cook of them all. Somehow she managed to take the most uninspiring ingredients and combine them into dishes that were tasty, hearty and filling. She seemed to enjoy it too. Unfortunately, Aeryn’s suggestion that Chiana should do all the cooking resulted in a fight of astonishing viciousness; in the end D’Argo and John had to hold them apart until they stopped trying to kill one another. That particular incident earned John a split lip and D’Argo a hefty kick in the mivocks.

Aeryn, well, cooking saw her at her most indolent; a typical meal consisted of either food cubes and re-hydrated vegetable wafers or smoked pronga sinew, shredded and boiled like bitter ramen noodles. Even the people who liked that stuff began to dread Aeryn's turn on the rota.

It was with this in mind that John Crichton formed his plan; it was a simple plan and promised to be a lot fun. Fun would make a nice change. He grinned; it was probably the nearest he would ever get Aeryn Sun to a date.

Since the whole thing with Pilot and the vid chip he hadn’t had any late night visits from Aeryn and John was fine with that. Mostly. He got that she needed time and space. It seemed to be working out fine; they’d been closer than ever in the last few weekens.

The whole recreation thing was fun at first but it ended up screwing with his head; it was a galaxy away from the casual relationships he'd had before. There’s nothing like being walked out on immediately after a functional Peacekeeper fuck to make you really appreciate the difference between alone and lonely.

John wasn't interested in cold Peacekeeper style recreation and he figured that while couldn’t teach Aeryn much about sex, he might be able to teach her a little something about play.

If she'd let him.

 

***

 

Aeryn leaned cautiously around the doorway to the central chamber. She wasn’t sure what kind of surprise Crichton had planned for her, but he was grinning like a fool during second meal and that worried her. She never could tell what kind of human dren he was going to spring on her.

Crichton was at the counter bending down and reaching into a cupboard. Aeryn admired the view for a few moments before she shook her head; sluicing out a myriad of inappropriate lascivious thoughts. _Concentrate woman._ He stood up, holding one of the big cooking pots, and when he noticed her gave her a big beaming smile.

“Well, I’m here,” she said as she approached, “what’s this surprise?”

“I’m keeping a promise.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her up to the counter which was laden with produce. “Remember I said when we had the ingredients I’d teach you how to make—”

“—Hepation minced stew.” Aeryn finished for him.

“Yeah! Well we’re well stocked for the first time in a million cycles so I figured we should take the opportunity while we can, right?”

Aeryn took in the array of ingredients before her and raised a sceptical brow, “You thought I would like this surprise?”

“Trust me,” he said and leaned into her, his breath hot on her neck, “it'll be fun.”

“Fine,” Aeryn sighed and went to wash her hands; she couldn't see how this would be fun, “what do I have to do?”

“First the meat; minced fela shank.” He stood behind her and placed his hands on her hips. Aeryn's eyes widened a little at the touch and she looked back at him with a frown, but never-the-less allowed him to maneuver her towards the counter. He let go and pointed to a package about the size of a pulse pistol. It was pink and solid and wrapped in some kind of clear waxy paper, “go on, pick it up.”

Wrinkling her nose Aeryn picked up the waxy slab and held it awkwardly away from her. It was cool to the touch, heavy for it’s size and exuded a metallic tang. John put a large clear bowl in front of her and motioned for her to unwrap the meat, which she did with a grimace, dropping the red and bloody lump of mince into the bowl with a wet slopping sound.

“This is not fun,” she said and John chuckled in response.

“You’re doin’ fine. Now the seasoning.” he emptied a tub of pungent powder into the meat and grinned at her, “you need to mix it in.”

“How?” she asked looking around for some kind of implement.

He rolled his eyes and stood behind her, reaching round and gently taking a wrist in each hand. She started to resist but he shushed in her ear, a soft low sound that rippled though her belly and she relented. She found herself pressed against his warm solid body; it was very distracting. Fortunately, John provided unexpected assistance to her concentration when he plunged her hands onto the cold wet meat.

“Squish it through your fingers," He said, speaking close to her ear, "until it’s all really well mixed in.”

He stepped away, taking his warmth with him, and busied himself along the counter leaving her to work. Aeryn scowled at the bowl for a few moments before she began to mix. It wasn’t actually unpleasant and she found it oddly satisfying to squish and squeeze the meat between her fingers; the aromas of the spice mix filling her nostrils. She felt a smile spread across her face and when she looked up she saw John watching; he raised a brow at her and she answered with a little shrug of her shoulder.

“I think I’m done,” she said when it looked like all the spice had been mixed in. She lifted her hands out of the bowl and scraped the lumps of meat that clung to her fingers back into it. John came round and leaned in to inspect her handiwork.

“Not bad,” he said, but then his brow furrowed. he reached in to the bowl, “but we could do without the extra ingredients.” He slowly pulled out a long black hair from the side of the bowl and held it up for her to see.

“Oh,” she said, looking into the bowl with distaste.

“I wont tell if you don’t,” John said throwing the strand to one side, “but you need to tie all that hair out of the way,”

“My hands are all covered in meat gunk,” she said, holding up her sticky fingers and waggling them at him.

“Do you have a tie?”

“In my pocket.” She held out her right hip for him.

John looked down and blushed, “Um, that pocket? You sure.”

Aeryn frowned and nodded, twitching her hip forward again.

“Oookay.” John licked his lips and pulled the edge of her pocket open with one hand and, holding her gaze, slipped the other in slowly. As she felt his hand squeeze inside the fabric of her tight pants Aeryn suddenly understood why he had blushed. Her own cheeks flushed as she felt his hand through the fabric, burrowing deep into the corner of her pocket, dangerously close to her crotch.

“Maybe I should do it myself?” she said her voice squeaking up at the end.

“No, it’s OK. I got it!” he said with a triumphant hoot as he quickly pulled out and held up the tie. He beamed at her, eyes gleaming, “turn around.”

Aeryn dutifully turned around and allowed Crichton to scoop her long hair up into a pony tail. His fingers were gentle as he swept up the thick strands with one hand and held them in a tight bunch with the other. She felt him rake his fingers through the long stands, straightening and tidying the wild mop, and he managed to do it without pulling or tangling; something she rarely managed to do herself. She didn't have his clever tech hands.

When he had got the bulk of the hair up he began to sweep up the straggling strands from around her face and the nape of her neck. Aeryn shivered a little at each touch. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything apart from the tips of his fingers grazing her skin. It didn’t work. She gave an involuntary roll of her hips, brushing her backside against his leather clad thigh. She froze, shocked at herself.

After a long pause John cleared his throat and stopped messing around with the strands. He wrapped the tie around the pony tail tightly and gave it a business-like tug to tighten it, pulling her head back sharply, causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes, though he didn’t look very sorry.

“S’fine,” Aeryn said and took a deep, steadying breath, “what’s next?”

“Um,” John pressed his hand to his forehead, “we, ah…we fry off the meat.”

He pointed to the big pan which he had set over the stove to heat the oil. Aeryn picked up the bowl of meat and scooped it into the pan with her fingers, it sizzled and splattered as it dropped into the hot oil. Aeryn washed her hands while John stirred the meat in the pan and he nodded his head towards a pile of root vegetables.

“Peel. Chop.” He ordered.

Aeryn pouted at him, “why am I doing all the hard work and while you just stir?”

“This is your shift,” he said, “I’m just helping out.”

She flashed him a look of amused irritation and started work, stripping the rough, knobbly skin from the roots and chopping them into small pieces.

“How do you know how to make this anyway?” she asked.

“I got Chiana to teach me. A few days ago.”

“We didn’t have this a few days ago,” she said.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if we did, would it?”

“I suppose not.” She finished off the purple roots and started on the orange ones, “why didn’t you just get Chiana to show me?”

“Well, two reasons. First off; you, Chiana, flames and knives…not a good combination.”

Aeryn snorted her agreement, “and second…”

“Second…I wanted to do it.” Aeryn smiled, absurdly pleased by this.

John nodded at the pile of roots, “you nearly done there?”

“Yeah,” she said. He scooted along the narrow counter to inspect her handy work.

“Not bad,” he said and scooped the vegetables into the pan. He turn the heat down and put the lid on tightly, “now we leave it to sweat.”

“Sweat?” she said, with a smirk.

“Uh uh.” He spoke in a soft voice, “while we do some pounding.”

Aeryn’s mouth dropped open and he laughed. He leaned across her and picked up a big stone bowl, with a matching round stone inside, and put in in front of her. Into the bowl he tipped a selection of strongly scented pods and seeds, a fibrous green root and poured in a hearty glug of lutra oil.

“You need to pound these ingredients into a paste.” He pressed the stone into her palm and, clasping his hand over hers, showed her how to pound and grind the ingredients. His large hand enveloped hers, guiding her in a slow, rhythmic, circular motion that was…familiar.

“Oh frell,” she thought, when the reason for the familiarity dropped into her brain with a thump. Aeryn bowed her head and sucked on her bottom lip. _Focus._

John must have decided she'd got the hang of it as he let go and stepped away. Aeryn bit her lip in disappointment and concentrated on aggressively pounding and grinding the ingredients in her bowl. It was actually kind of fun. Cathartic. She became aware of John’s eyes on her as she worked and she looked up though her lashes, catching him staring.

“Enjoying the show?” she asked sweetly. John shrugged, unabashed, and went back to tending the pot.

When the stuff in the bowl had been reduced to a thick brown paste she showed it to John, who stepped over and dipped in a finger and rubbed it against his thumb.

“Feels right,” he said and put his finger in his mouth and sucked the paste from it, “tastes pretty good too. You wanna taste?” He held out his sticky thumb.

Aeryn looked at the thumb and then swept her eyes slowly up to John's face. She did want to taste.

She leaned in and gently licked the thumb with the tip of her tongue. The sticky paste was rich and salty with an underlying sharpness that exploded on her taste buds and flooded her mouth with saliva. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and she pulled his thumb into her mouth, suckling it until all the paste had gone. He hooked his thumb gently in her mouth and she rippled her tongue over its soft pad. He took a shallow breath though parted lips and she watched his eyes sweep down to her mouth then up again to meet her steady gaze. After a long moment she let the thumb drop from her mouth.

“Very nice,” she said, her voice low and husky.

“Very.”

John coughed nervously and shook his head; he looked down at the counter for a few moments and appeared to count under his breath. When he finished he flashed her a sheepish smile, took the bowl and scraped its contents into the pan, mixing it in before pouring a whole decanter of herb stock over the top and setting it to boil. They tidied up, working smoothly around each other, business like, until the pan started to bubble John turned the heat right down and half covered the pan with a lid.

They stood side-by-side at the counter, not quite touching.

“Now we leave it for a couple of arns.”

“Oh,” said Aeryn in a slightly shaky voice, “so…what do we do while we wait?” She gave him a side long look and a suggestive smile. She could think of a lot you can do in a couple of arns.

He raised his brows in amusement.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I have some work to be getting on with in command.” He patted her amiably on the shoulder and walked away; an insane grin plastered across his face.

Aeryn watched him go in open mouthed disbelief. She wondered if he was playing with her, or if he was just stupid. It could easily be either.

No matter, she thought with a calculating smile, she was quite capable of playing too.

 

***

 

A couple of arns later John strolled back into the central chamber to find Aeryn already there, leaning over the counter a little, peering into the pot. He licked his lips and, in the spirit of adventure, attempted to sneak up behind her. He was about to reach out and grab her when she whirled around and swept his legs out from under him, dumping him flat on his back.

“Too slow, human,” she said as she stood over him smiling. She kicked his arms out to the side and straddled him with her thighs, pinning him to the floor just as she had done the day they first met. Though he recalled there was a lot less wriggling that time. John figured he was paying the price for leaving her hanging earlier, but that was fine…he probably deserved it. Hell, he wanted to kick himself for that too. And it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“You know,” he said lazily, “it’s gonna be hard to help you out if I’m stuck down here.”

"You're lucky I don't break your neck," Aeryn said as she stared down at him, a gleeful smile plastered across her face. Eventually she shrugged and got up in a smooth, graceful movement and walked away leaving him to pick himself up of the floor.

“Do you think it’s done?” she asked, lifting the lid off the pot. John stood up behind her and as he peered over her shoulder he took the opportunity to rest a hand on her waist. She leaned into his touch and John grinned figuring he was forgiven.

“No idea. Taste it,” He said and handed her a spoon. She scooped out a spoonful and turned around; blowing away the heat with deliciously pink pursed lips.

“You first,” she said, holding the spoon up.

John took the mouthful slowly, letting the rich taste fill his mouth. It was pretty damn good; rich fatty meet, kinda like lamb, cut through with the piquant gravy. It was probably the tastiest thing he’d eaten this side of the galaxy. Well, he smirked and swept his lashes down to look at Aeryn, maybe the second tastiest.

“Your turn.” he said. He grabbed the spoon, loaded it up got Aeryn to blow on it. Then she allowed him to feed her a spoonful. She closed her eyes as she ate, chewing slowly, and when she finished she ran her tongue over her lips.

“That’s delicious,” she said.

“Yeah it is,” John whispered. He took a step closer until he had Aeryn almost pinned against the counter and she arched out her hips to press against him.

She’d changed, he noticed, out of her shirt and into a leather vest. The hot one with the zipper that drove him half crazy. It called to him and at this close range it took a herculean feat of self-control not to reach out for the tag on the zipper and tug it slowly down.

He reached up and fingered the tag lightly eyes flicking slowly back and forth between it and her eyes. He was close enough to see that she didn't have anything on underneath. He wondered what she would do if he did pull it down. Kill him probably. He let go and her smile faltered a little. She leaned forward; pressing her breasts against him in a most distracting manner. Okay, _now_ he was paying the price for earlier.

He resisted. He promised himself that no matter how hard it got—and it was pretty damn hard right now—he wasn’t going to let this get out of hand.

“What now?” she whispered.

He dropped his eyes and broke into an evil grin.

“Dumplings,” he said and pulled away from her delighting in the crestfallen look on her face.

“Dumplings?”

He pulled out a mixture that Chiana had prepared for him earlier; a yellow flour, some dry shredded stuff and little black seeds that popped on the tongue. He tipped it onto a bowl and added a large cup of water before giving the bowl to Aeryn.

“Mix.” He said.

“What, again?” Aeryn rolled her eyes, “this is a lot of effort just for a meal.”

“Fun though.” John grinned at her and she responded with a blush, “here, I’ll help.”

He put his hands in the bowl with hers and they mixed together, fingers brushing and entwining, as the mixture moved through various states of claggy stickiness until it became a light silken dough. They rolled the dough into balls and dropped them one by one into the cooking pot.

“Are we done yet?” Aeryn asked.

“Pretty much, we’ll be good to go in about a quarter arn. Chiana said it's done when the dumplings have…ah, swelled up nice and big.”

“Swelled up?” Aeryn raised her brows at him.

“Yeah. Her words.”

“Nice and big?”

“Uh huh, 'bout this big,” he cupped his hand to illustrate and Aeryn tilted her head with a suggestive smile and licked her lips. John blew out a breath, his resolve beginning to slip; Who was he kidding? This probably was going to get a little out of hand. He was, after all, just a guy.

Well, he thought, how out of control could it get in a quarter of an arn? Very; if the pattern of every other aspect of his life repeated itself.

Aeryn leaned back against the counter and John stepped up close and pressed himself against her. He worked his knee between her legs and leaned forward on the counter, bracketing her with his arms. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, her shallow breaths matching his. He dipped his head to rest his forehead on hers. Aeryn parted her legs further, so that he was able to brace his knee against the counter, allowing her to rest her whole body weight on him. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She began to rock her pelvis in little circular motions, grinding against his thigh, bumping against his groin in rhythm what was exquisitely frustrating. Almost painful. He shifted his weight to free a hand, making a small adjustment that relieved the discomfort but not a whole hell of a lot else. He concentrated on Aeryn. She made faint moaning sounds that complemented the soft swish and squeak of leather on leather. Her eyes were closed, lips parted and her face was a mask of deep concentration; totally buried in the pursuit of her pleasure. John bit his lip, reached up and swept his fingers softly across her cheek. He wanted to bring her back from wherever she had gone in her mind; to have her here with him. He wanted her to let him share the moment.

He reached up further and wrapped his hand around her long thick pony tail and pulled gently, tipping her head back.

“Open your eyes,” he said softly.

Her eyelids slitted open and she met his stare briefly before her eyes slid away again.

“Aeryn,” he said, her name a whispered plea. She looked up and, this time, didn’t break away. He brushed his lips against her cheek, the line of her jaw and finally he touched her lips. They parted to meet him and he brushed the tip of his tongue against hers and reveled in her mouth; warm and wet and thrilling. He felt her body shudder against him and she took desperate gasping breaths.

“So, you like this surprise?” he whispered against her cheek.

“Very much,” she replied in soft, shuddering voice.

“We're going to have to stop. The guys will be here in minute, expecting to be fed.” Aeryn shook her head in frenetic protest, but the thought of the others catching them in this compromising position helped John gather a little of his eroded self control, "you wanna get caught like this?"

"No," Aeryn moaned and placed her hands flat on his chest and looked up at him, “Later?”

“Later.”

As if on cue a voice called out behind them with all the jumped up pomposity that only a Hynerian dominar can summon. They parted hurriedly; Aeryn went to the cooking pot while John took a moment to compose himself.

“Well then, what abomination have you made today?” Rygel floated into the central chamber on his throne sled just as John was ready to face the world again.

“We have made,” said Crichton walking up to Rygel and patting his head, “Heptation minced stew.”

“Oh wonderful!” Rygel perked up immediately, “about time we had something decent.”

This won a shy little smile from Aeryn and she commed the rest of the crew to come join them. They busied themselves with laying the table while they waited for the others to arrive. When they had all settled around the table Aeryn presented the food they had made. She beamed with pride as she lifted the lid of the pot and began to ladle the food into bowls and hand them out.

“What is this?” asked D’Argo, “did you use the fela shank in this?”

“Yeah,” said Crichton.

“I cannot believe you minced up good meat for stew. What a waste,” he scowled at the bowl and Aeryn’s smiled dropped a little.

“This is rather stodgy don’t you think?” said Zaahn, poking at the food, “we could have done with something a bit lighter, dear.”

The smile had completely gone now, replaced by a hurt frown and fists clenched into tight balls. John watched Aeryn in despair as her mental shutters slammed up around her.

“Where’s the rest of it!” Rygel demanded, “is this tiny pot all we have? This isn’t going to be sufficient; I have three stomachs to fill.”

“Just eat it!” Aeryn snapped at him.

John shared wide-eyed a look with Chiana, who looked back with a sympathetic shrug while the others continued their barrage of bickering criticism.

Chiana started to speak, “Well I lik—”

“You can shut up as well.” Aeryn cut her off.

John reached out and gently touched her arm but she shook him off and, picking up her own bowl, started to leave, “I’m going to eat in my quarters.”

“Aeryn!” John called after her and began to follow.

“Leave me alone Crichton,” she said and fled.

John turned back to the table and stood over them with his hands on his hips, “you couldn’t just eat the damn food could you?”

“What?” said D’Argo, “what did we do?”

“We worked—Aeryn worked—really hard on this meal.” He said with a sigh. He was gong to add  _you know what's she's like when she gets out of her comfort zone_ but he didn't. He felt like such an idiot. He should never have let her anywhere near this bunch of ingrates.

“It is actually quite tasty,” said Zaahn.

“Got a lot of flavour,” agreed D’Argo.

“And quite filling now that I try it,” said Rygel.

Chiana broke out into hysterical laughter and John looked at them all in disgust and amazement. He threw himself down on the bench, angry and frustrated, and began to eat; the food seemed to stick in his throat.

“Are you gonna go after her?" Chiana leaned over and asked quietly.

John rested his chin on his hand and regarded her wearily, "would you?"

"Frell no!" she said laughing.

John shrugged and looked around at his companions as they happily munched their way through the meal they'd just slated.

He marveled in their ability to ruin everything in under a minute.

It was a talent that's for sure.

 


End file.
